


Learning Experiences

by KouriArashi



Series: All the Rewards [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Image, Communication, Hand Jobs, Insecurities, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Slash, all the jobs, relationship building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KouriArashi/pseuds/KouriArashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t know what this is,” Stiles says. “And I’m torn between having a discussion about it and skipping straight to the sexy time, because I so, so want to have as much sex as possible before the others start showing up, because I don’t think I can survive an evening of unresolved sexual tension while the others are here.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning Experiences

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit this: I have a kink for realism in my porn.

“Hey, so, I’m going over to Scott’s tonight,” Stiles says around six thirty, as he finishes up with the dishes. “Allison and Lydia and Jackson are coming over, I think. Don’t wait up.”

“Mm hm,” Stilinski says, barely looking up from the television show he’s watching. “Have fun.”

Stiles sighs in relief and sticks a dishwasher tab into the machine before setting it to go. He runs the garbage disposal and puts the leftovers in the refrigerator.

Just when he thinks he’s safe, his father says, “Your new girlfriend’s gonna be there, I take it?”

Stiles nearly drops a container of pasta onto his foot. “My – what?”

Sheriff Stilinski gives him an unimpressed look. “You are aware that I’m a cop, right? So don’t insult my intelligence by asking ‘how did you know’. Exhibit A: you went and brushed your teeth right after dinner. I have never seen you do that before in my life.”

“Oral hygiene is very important – ”

“Exhibit B. You are not wearing the same shirt you wore to school today. I saw you when you left this morning. Now you’re wearing something different. Not only that, but there are no fewer than four shirts in crumpled piles on your bed, which means you’ve changed clothes at least four times. So you are clearly very concerned about your appearance.”

“Hey, a guy needs to look good – ”

“Exhibit C. I ran into Melissa McCall earlier today and she said that she hopes it doesn’t bother me the way everyone’s crashing my place all the time.”

Stiles winces.

“I find this extremely interesting, given that the last time you had friends over, you were twelve. So wherever you’re going tonight, I have a feeling it isn’t Scott’s.” Sheriff Stilinski turns the television off and says, “Something you want to tell me, son?”

Stiles isn’t sure what to say to that, beyond ‘remember that time I hinted I might be gay and you brushed me off? Yeah, can we revisit that?’ It’s not really something he wants to discuss. As much as he won’t admit it, and as much as he knows his father had bigger problems, and as much as they really _weren’t_ at that club because of his theoretical homosexuality, that conversation still stings a little. So instead he just says, “Nope,” because keeping secrets from his father is a way of life now, and he hates it, but he’s not about to start telling the truth with ‘remember that guy you arrested for murder a while back? Yeah, we’re shagging now’.

His father looks at him for a long minute, then says, “Are you being safe?”

“Safe as houses. Honest to God.” Stiles raises his hand in the Boy Scout salute. He decides to drop another hint, see if his dad says anything. “There is an absolute zero percent chance I’ll be getting anyone pregnant.”

If Stilinski sees the hint, he doesn’t respond to it. He just says, “Okay, good,” and then turns the television back on. “And that shirt looks great on you. Don’t change again.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. He pulls on his sneakers, grabs his keys, and heads out the door.

He’s afraid he’s going to be late because he had to stop and have that conversation, and he is, by a few minutes, but nobody answers the door when he knocks. He doesn’t see Derek’s Camaro in the alley, either. Since Derek said he would be home ‘around seven’, he decides to just wait and see if he turns up. Of course, his imagination immediately runs wild with all sorts of possibilities – the first and foremost being that Derek decided he didn’t want to see him, but doesn’t want to make things awkward, so he’ll just show up at nine. He wonders how long he should wait before he texts him.

All his worrying is for nothing. Derek shows up about five minutes later, dressed in a shirt and slacks and a tie, and greets him with, “Traffic was murder.” It’s not exactly an apology, but it’s an explanation, and Stiles decides he’ll take it. He’s fascinated with the tie. As soon as they’re in the loft, he reaches out and grabs it, unthinking, using it to reel Derek in for a kiss. Derek huffs against his mouth but then returns the kiss.

“You should wear one of these every day,” Stiles says, several breathless moments later.

“I do wear one almost every day,” Derek responds.

“Yeah, ‘cause . . . you have a job.” Stiles frowns a little. “Where?”

Derek toes his shoes off and says, “Redding.”

“That’s like an hour away,” Stiles says, surprised.

Derek shrugs. “Job market is tight right now.”

“Or . . . you didn’t want anyone here to realize you have a job?” Stiles says, and Derek glowers at him. “No, seriously, dude, where do you work?”

With a sigh, Derek says, “At a bank. Are we done here?”

“You work at a bank? What do you do there? Is it an evil bank?” Stiles asks eagerly.

“All banks are evil,” Derek says. “The one I work for no more or less so than average. I do banking stuff there. What did you think I did, juggle geese?”

“Why do you have a job? I thought you were, like, rich,” Stiles says, gesturing at the loft as if to emphasize this statement.

The glower deepens, but surprisingly, Derek continues to answer his questions. “The money from the insurance payout went into a trust for me and Laura. But for a long time after the fire, things weren’t stable enough . . . for either of us . . . to get a job and settle down somewhere, so we used a lot of it up for living expenses. Yes, there’s still a sizable chunk of it left, but it’s not going to last my entire life. When I realized that I was going to be here long-term, I used part of it to pay for the loft, and then started job hunting.”

“What about the Camaro? That can’t have been cheap.”

“No, but it was paid for long before the fire. It belonged to my father.” Derek folds his arms over his chest. “Anything else?”

Stiles winces. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m prying, but it’s just – you wearing a tie, you having a job at a bank – it’s so fucking foreign to everything I know about you. Or thought I knew about you.”

Derek looks away. “If I didn’t want you to know, I wouldn’t have answered your questions. Any others?”

Stiles thinks it over. “How was your day?”

This question seems to take Derek off guard. He frowns. “I don’t know. It was just . . . a day. Nothing out of the ordinary happened.”

“Okay.” Stiles doesn’t push it. He gives the tie another tug and sees a spark of amusement in Derek’s eyes. “Yeah, you never should have let me see you in this.”

“I don’t mind,” Derek says. There’s a brief, hesitant pause before he says, “I like watching your hands, anyway.”

Stiles has to swallow before he can speak again. “Okay, I, uh . . . look, this is clearly going to be the most awkward relationship ever, so, I think we should just establish a rule here and now that we just say whatever’s on our minds.”

“Is that different from what you normally do?” Derek asks, arching an eyebrow at him.

“Believe it or not,” Stiles says, “there are entire _worlds_ of things that have crossed my mind that I have never spoken aloud. Hell, I could fill an encyclopedia just with my thoughts about you that I’ve never spoken aloud. An entire volume could be based around your ass. You have no idea how many thoughts I have in any given moment.”

“Okay,” Derek says. “So what are you thinking now?”

“Just that . . . I don’t know what this _is_ ,” Stiles says. “And I’m torn between having a discussion about it and skipping straight to the sexy time, because I so, so want to have as much sex as possible before the others start showing up, because I don’t think I can survive an evening of unresolved sexual tension while the others are here.”

“We have almost two hours,” Derek points out.

“If you follow that up with ‘and last time you barely lasted ten minutes’, I will actually cry,” Stiles says. “For real.”

Derek just gives him one of those looks. “My point is that I think we have time for both. Anyway, I need a drink.” He pulls away from Stiles and heads into the kitchen. “So are you going to tell me what’s on your mind or what?”

“I guess I’m just not experienced enough to know what’s going on here,” Stiles says, rubbing a hand over his hair. “Like, are we boyfriends now? Or are we just friends with benefits? Either one is okay, I swear, but I feel like I should _know_. Because it’s not like we’re dating. And I mean, I feel like I know you, like I know what sort of person you are inside, but I don’t know anything _about_ you. And that’s weird for me because I learn about stuff. That’s like . . . my default mode. But I’ve never been able to learn about you. I didn’t know you even had a job until today, let alone that it was at a bank and that you had an hour commute. I don’t know what sort of drink you’re going to pour yourself, or if you sat down to watch TV, what’s in your DVD player, or why you decided to stay here after you bounced around for so long. So that sort of, of not knowing, it feels weird to me. And yesterday . . . was kind of a big deal for me. I mean, I hadn’t ever . . . done that with anyone before. Oh, God, don’t say ‘I could tell’. That will kill my ego.”

Derek sighs and walks out of the kitchen. He lifts up the glass he’s carrying and says, “Water. Just plain old boring water.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “This probably sounds stupid, doesn’t it.”

Derek shrugs. “Sort of? I mean, I don’t see why you need to put a label on it. Why can’t we just be what we are?”

Stiles makes himself actually think that over. Then he says, “I guess because now I don’t know how to act.”

“I wouldn’t know how to act if I _were_ your boyfriend.”

That seems a little sad to Stiles. Then again, he can see where Derek’s coming from, and somewhat feels the same way. “Okay. But we really only see each other at pack meetings or when stuff is trying to kill us. I kind of want to, you know . . . hang out together. Can we do that? And sometimes we’ll hang out and have sex but sometimes we’ll hang out and watch TV or play video games or whatever?”

Derek gives him a long, unfathomable look. “Okay,” he says.

“You don’t mind?” Stiles asks, and gets a shrug. “Okay, well, will you at least tell me if I’m hanging around too much and being annoying? I don’t want to be, y’know, a nuisance.”

“Okay,” Derek says again. He takes a sip of his water, watches Stiles for a minute. Then he says, “Tangled.”

Stiles blinks at him, trying to work out if this is some sort of emotional code. After a few moments, he gives up. “What?”

“The movie in my DVD player right now is Tangled.”

“The . . . Disney movie?” Stiles asks, and Derek actually flushes a little pink as he nods. “Dude, I _love_ that movie!” Stiles staggers dramatically and says, “You broke my smolder!”

Now Derek smiles. “Wasn’t much of a smolder to begin with,” he teases.

“Dude, you know what we should do,” Stiles says, “we should totally watch that movie. Not, like, right _now_ , because there seriously is a limit to how long I’m going to be able to keep my hands off you, and if we sit down on the couch together we’re gonna end up making out, which I’m totally okay with, but, you see my point. But after the pack meeting. Or tomorrow some time. We should watch it together.”

“Okay,” Derek says.

Stiles beams at him, unable to believe his luck. “We can totally start making out now, right?” he asks, taking hold of Derek by the tie. Derek kisses him in response and gets a hand on Stiles’ waist, guiding him towards the bedroom.

“Don’t forget we’ve got . . .” Derek checks his watch. “An hour and forty minutes,” he concludes, leaning in to nuzzle at Stiles’ ear. Stiles knows what he means. All jokes about his stamina aside, things had happened pretty fast last time. This time he means to savor it. So he takes his time pulling off the tie, takes his time as he undoes the buttons on Derek’s shirt one by one. He’s wearing one of those ungodly sexy tank tops underneath it, which Stiles takes joy in running his hands all over as he pushes Derek’s shirt off his back. He does all of this while they stand just inside the bedroom with Stiles’ hips comfortably tucked up against Derek’s as the older man leans against the wall, and they never stop kissing. He feels Derek’s fingers inch up underneath his T-shirt, not trying to take it off, but just finding the skin underneath. Stiles is suddenly extremely glad of his decision to wear layers, because it means Derek can strip the items of clothing off him one at a time, which is way more sexy than it should be.

The plaid button down is gone a few moments later, but the T-shirt remains, though when Derek guides him over to the bed it winds up rucked up around his ribs. Stiles doesn’t care, he doesn’t care about _anything_ as long as Derek doesn’t stop kissing him, and he never does. He’s propped up halfway against the pillows with Derek hovering over him, each kiss longer and deeper and more languorous than the last. Every time Stiles reaches to try to peel Derek’s tank top off him, Derek just gently pushes his hands away. Slow, he seems to be saying. We’re taking this slow.

Which is great for the first ten, maybe even the first fifteen minutes. Then Stiles starts to get impatient, tugging at the bottom of the tank top and resisting Derek’s efforts to stop him. Derek makes one of those huffing noises that’s almost a laugh and finally lets Stiles pull it off him.

“Hey, I . . . I want to pay you back for yesterday. Okay?” Stiles says.

“You don’t have to pay me back for anything,” Derek says.

“I know, but . . . I want to. Like, a lot.” Stiles smirks a little and adds, “I promise I’ll take it slow. In fact, maybe you should set a timer or something. We don’t want the others to come in and find us that way.”

“Might be worth it for the look on Erica’s face,” Derek says, but his nonchalant commentary is betrayed by the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Stiles just _knows_ he’s thinking about whether or not Stiles will actually be able to string him along that long. It sounds like a delicious sort of torture. Stiles sits up and kisses him again, one hand against Derek’s cheek, his neck. Then he pushes Derek backwards. Derek lets him. Their legs tangle together for a minute, and then Stiles gets them sorted out.

He doesn’t bother to list off the names, but he does take his time tracing each muscle of Derek’s chest and abdomen with his hands and his mouth. He takes careful note of where Derek seems particularly sensitive, what ways he likes to be touched. It’s research of a different sort than usual, but he takes it no less seriously. He wants to know everything he can about Derek. He doesn’t want to miss anything.

And he does take it slow, despite his own body’s impulse to start throwing all his clothes off and just go to town. Derek wants to go slow, so he will. Although Stiles starts to notice, the more he concentrates on those particularly sensitive places, the more his hands drift lower on Derek’s abdomen, the more Derek’s steady breaths start to turn to growls of impatience. It’s heady, like a drug, to know that he’s affecting Derek this way.

Finally – _has_ it been an hour? It feels like an eternity – he gets down to the button of Derek’s jeans. He considers it for a few moments and then ignores it, bypassing it to rub his hands over Derek’s hips and thighs, mouth at the rough fabric straining to hold back his erection. Derek mutters curses and imprecations under his breath, his hands tangling in the sheets for a few moments before he starts fumbling at the button and zipper himself.

“Oh no,” Stiles says, laughing. “Turnabout is fair play.”

Derek growls at him, but lets Stiles push his hands away even though he could doubtlessly overpower the teenager. But Stiles is getting impatient now, anyway; there’s only so long he can hold out when his own cock is rock hard in his pants. He’s so turned on that it’s becoming physically painful. So once he’s gotten Derek’s hands out of the way, he undoes the button and zipper and tugs the pants off. He’s disappointed that he’s not able to make any sort of commentary about silk boxers or anything like that, although the navy blue briefs _are_ intriguing, in their own way. Stiles decides to save torturing Derek through his underwear for another time, and strips those off too.

 “Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, because when they’re fooling around he can forget for a few minutes how amazing Derek is, in comparison to him. He pushes aside the feelings of self-doubt and nagging questions about why Derek is doing this stuff with him, because there are far more important things to attend to, such as the fact that Derek is doing this stuff with him. He leans down and takes Derek into his mouth.

He immediately realizes why Derek had never tried to take him all the way in the previous day. Derek lets out a little wheezing noise, his hips jerking upwards, and Stiles immediately chokes. He pulls away, coughing. “Sorry, shit, sorry,” he says. “That took me off guard.”

“Yeah,” Derek pants. “No problem.”

Stiles tries again, more carefully, only taking what will actually fit into his mouth, which sadly is nowhere near all of Derek’s dick. He makes immediate mental notes about how he and his gag reflex are going to have to do a lot of work on this. For the moment, he mimics Derek’s actions the day before, holding the base of Derek’s cock in his hand, working on it that way while he concentrates on the rest of it with his mouth. Interesting questions about what this means about Derek’s general level of experience where blowjobs are concerned rise to mind, but float away before he can really contemplate them. Later, he tells himself.

He listens to Derek breathe, keeps his other hand splayed out on his abdomen to keep him pinned, although it’s more of a reminder than an actual deterrent. Everything else is just focused on the steady up and down, the taste, the way he can feel Derek straining to keep his own body in control. He’s loving it, all of it, but his back is starting to seize up. “Fuck, I’ve gotta,” he gasps out, withdrawing, and Derek growls at him again. “Sorry, just, my back is killing me, it’s really awkward to stay bent over like this.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and Derek just groans. “Let’s, uh,” he says, and sort of tugs at Derek, sliding him further down the bed so he’s at the end, his feet hanging off a little. Now Stiles can kneel on the floor, so the angle isn’t quite as bad.

“Now I can’t see you,” Derek complains, his voice rougher than usual, as Stiles goes back to work.

“Do you need to see me?” Stiles asks, keeping his hand working on Derek, slow and steady, so they don’t lose too much ground.

“I want to see you,” Derek says. “I want to watch you.”

Stiles has to take a breath or two and remind himself that it’s not his turn, and if he comes in his pants from nothing but Derek _talking_ to him, that will be the worst embarrassment yet. “Well, then just sit up,” he says, so Derek does. He winds up bent over Stiles, one hand twined in his hair, but he keeps the pressure light, careful not to pull on him. Stiles can practically _feel_ Derek watching him, which is amazingly sexy in and of itself. He works them into a rhythm again, always careful not to take more than he can manage, judging when Derek’s getting close to the edge by the noises he makes. He wants to drag it out further, wants to give back Derek everything he had been given the day before, but they’re just not going to last, and he’s beginning to think they’re going to need ample recovery time before either of them will be able to face the rest of the pack.

So he speeds things up, curling his tongue around Derek’s cock and listening to him grate out, “Holy _fuck_ , Stiles,” and just keeps things going. Derek’s still swearing at him but it’s getting a little less intelligible as the seconds turn into minutes and finally he hears, “Nn . . . Stiles, I – I’m going to – ”

He pulls away because he’s smart enough to know he can’t handle that, and choking _now_ would just be a disaster. But he keeps his hand moving, once, twice, and then Derek’s back arches and his body spasms as he comes into Stiles’ hands. Stiles braces him through it, reveling in the fact that he, the weak human, has to brace Derek, the strong alpha, and when he’s done, Stiles eases him back down onto the bed. Derek lies there and just _breathes_ , blinking lazily at Stiles, who flops down beside him, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

“You’re the devil,” Derek finally says.

“Aww, thanks,” Stiles says, his grin turning into a smirk. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

“Mm,” Derek says, a little too boneless to do much of anything.

Stiles leans over and kissing him on the underside of the jaw, squirming closer and trying not to rub up against him too obviously. When he sees Derek arch an eyebrow at him, he knows that he’s failed miserably. “Give me a break,” he says, still grinning. He has a feeling that the grin is going to be a permanent fixture on his face for a little while. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed that.”

“Oh, I think I have some idea,” Derek says, and Stiles remembers that he did, in fact, do all the same things yesterday. “Get undressed.”

Stiles gets to his feet and hooks his fingers underneath the hem of his T-shirt. Then he sees Derek watching him and hesitates. “You can watch if you want, but don’t expect me to make it pretty, okay?” he says. “I don’t even know how I would do that.”

“Okay,” Derek says, and watches as Stiles’ cheeks flush a little as he pulls his shirt off. “You’re shy,” he says, sounding interested in this little nugget of information he’s discovered.

“Uh, newsflash, Derek,” Stiles says, fighting the urge to turn around as he undoes his pants. “Anybody would be body shy after getting their hands all over you.”

Derek considers this for a minute as Stiles tugs off his socks and then starts to strip out of his pants. “I like your body,” he says, and Stiles, who’s halfway out of his pants, trips over the loose leg of them and nearly falls over.

“Okay, stop,” he says, regaining his footing. “Because I know you’re trying to make me feel better but actually you’re just making me _more_ self-conscious. Okay?”

By this point, Derek has managed to sit up, propping himself up with a few pillows against the head of the bed. “Okay,” he says, as Stiles gets out of his underwear, and drops the subject. “C’mere.”

For the briefest of moments, Stiles is uncertain, because now he’s feeling really insecure, but he’s also still horny as hell and now they’re both naked. Unsurprisingly, horny wins out. He goes over to the bed and lets Derek loop an arm around his waist, pulling him down so he’s settled astride his lap. Derek gets a hand on the small of his back and pulls him in for a kiss, but he doesn’t linger in it, choosing to move on, mouthing at Stiles’ jaw, nipping his ear and down his neck. Stiles tries to hold himself still but then he feels Derek get a hand around his dick and he rocks into it involuntarily. One of his arms wraps around Derek’s shoulders and he fights to keep his motions slow and easy, rolling his hips forward, into Derek’s grip.

It’s a little awkward, he finds, one forearm braced against the wall and the other on Derek’s shoulders, with the older man still nuzzling at his neck and his jaw. Derek lets him be in charge of the rhythm, the speed, and so it’s almost like he’s fucking Derek’s hand, the very thought of which comes close to making him lose control. He’s quieter now, although he’s breathing hard; it doesn’t quite reach the intensity level of the day before, but that’s certainly okay. It’s more than good enough.

He puts both arms against the wall and rests his forehead in the crook of Derek’s shoulder and shivers as Derek runs light fingers up and down his spine. “Unfair, unfair,” he gasps out against Derek’s collarbone. Derek lets out a low chuckle that Stiles feels more than hears. Then his second hand joins his first around Stiles’ cock, fingers flexing together and giving him a squeeze just firm enough to make him choke. Stiles loses it then and just starts driving forward hard and fast, letting out gasping little noises, unable to even find words. He keeps himself braced against the wall with one arm and tangles the other in Derek’s hair, and surprises both of them by biting down hard on Derek’s shoulder as he comes.

It takes both of them several minutes to recover from that. Stiles suspects that they’re cuddling, and equally suspects that they will never mention this again. He manages to open his eyes long enough to find a clock on the wall and sees that it’s just about eight. They have an entire hour. Still, forty minutes, not bad.

“So . . . what are we doing tonight?” he finally asks, because he suspects more sexual activities at this point would wear him out permanently.

Pack meetings usually occur once or twice a week. It’s taken all of them a long time to get used to the idea that they _are_ a pack, and they should really try acting like one on occasion. After everything that happened with the alpha pack, it was obvious that they were stronger together. Even Scott has grudgingly accepted the fact that, until such time as he is an alpha himself, Derek is the alpha in his territory.

Packs are supposed to be close, tight-knit, Derek has said, and so they’ve all at least tried to become so, despite the many factors that have weighed against it. The closer the pack is, the stronger they all are. So they get together and play games or watch television or go out in the woods and undergo physical training. It helps them get used to each other, and after about six months of this, they’ve settled into companionship that’s more like family than friendship. An obligation, yes, but one that they usually enjoy.

Derek eased up his iron fist after it became clear that going through physical drills every single time was only going to convince Lydia not to show up and Stiles to eventually hurt himself with his own clumsiness. He allows the others to pick the activities. They take turns and everyone is expected to put up with whatever is suggested. So there have been Ultimate Frisbee games, Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathons, Christmas cookie bake-a-thons, and even trust falls.

Those were particularly interesting. It had been Allison’s suggestion; she had done it before at one of the schools she attended. They aren’t good at them. Not even a little bit. Nobody trusts Jackson besides Lydia. Erica and Boyd don’t trust Allison. Scott and Derek don’t trust each other. There had been a lot of griping and complaining, plenty of people outright refusing, and at least two occasions of people not being caught (both times through inattention, but it hadn’t helped the proceedings).

It wasn’t until later, on the way home, that Scott had realized aloud that Stiles was the only one that everyone had trusted. Despite all the bitching and moaning, when they moved around the circle to him, everyone closed their eyes and fell into Stiles’ arms without hesitation. Even Jackson.

Stiles isn’t exactly sure what that means, but when he said that, Scott just rolled his eyes at him and changed the subject.

Because it had been such a disaster, Derek had mandated that they would do it weekly until everyone could do it with everyone. Not the entire circle; that took forever. But they draw straws and everyone has to fall at least once. They hated it, but that was true of a lot of Derek’s mandates.

“Lydia’s bringing something like eight versions of Trivial Pursuit,” he says in response to Stiles’ question. “So that ought to be interesting.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Stiles says, yawning and stretching. He snuggles up to Derek, because fuck a bunch of any societal conventions that said men didn’t cuddle. “Well, we’ve still got an hour. What do you want to do?”

It’s a question that feels distinctly odd. Up until this moment, he hadn’t really realized how little time he and Derek have spent alone together. Sure, they’re together during pack meetings, but everyone else is there then. And sometimes when shit is going down, as it so often is in Beacon Hills, they’re thrown together. But there’s always a goal then, or at least something they need to be doing, so this is the first time they’ve just been hanging out. Nothing in particular they need to do. Just being together.

Derek rolls onto his side, propping his face up in one hand. “Do you want to have sex?”

“I thought we were having sex,” Stiles says, nervous despite himself.

Derek gives him a look. “You know what I mean.”

Stiles squirms a little, because he _does_ know what Derek means, but he isn’t sure whether there’s a right or a wrong answer here. “Would you laugh at me if I said I was trying to figure out how in the hell that could work? Because wow, I am in no way complaining about the size of your dick, but I really don’t see how I’m supposed to fit it anywhere.”

Derek bites his lip, partly to hold back a smile, and partly because he looks a little nervous himself. “I’m not sure.”

“What, really?” Stiles asks, surprised.

Derek glowers at him. “I’m not a virgin,” he says, “but I haven’t ever . . . with a guy. Before this.”

“Oh.” Stiles considers. “Oh, shit, really? Okay, I’m totally flattered now, this is kind of awesome – ” He sees Derek roll his eyes and thinks right, focus. “I do want to, though. Just . . . maybe not . . .”

Derek rolls over onto his stomach and watches Stiles for a minute as he fumbles to finish his sentence. “It’s okay if you don’t want to today,” he says.

Stiles is somewhat taken aback by the way Derek is almost pushing him to say no, or at least giving him every opportunity to say no and make sure he’s comfortable with it. He suspects there are underlying issues there, but he really has no intent of prodding at them. Derek is so taciturn about anything involving his past; maybe someday they’ll talk about Derek’s first time, but he doesn’t think that day will be today. “Do you not want to?” he hazards.

“I want to when you want to,” Derek says.

Stiles chews on his lower lip. “Maybe we can just fool around a little more today and then I’ll find us some educational pornography,” he suggests.

Derek laughs despite himself. “Okay,” he says.

“Honestly, I’m pretty wrecked by this point,” Stiles says, though he hates to admit it. He’d rather just say it than start something he can’t finish. “Ooh! I know. I’ve got the latest Elementary episode queued up on my laptop. Let’s watch it.”

“I haven’t seen any of that show,” Derek says.

“Dude, it’s a Sherlock Holmes show. You’ll figure it out.”

Derek gives a little growl when Stiles leaves the bed, wobbling a little, but doesn’t actively protest. Somehow they manage to get comfortable with the laptop on a table dragged over while they’re still lying on the bed, propped up against the pillows. Stiles is already telling him all about this particular permutation of the Sherlock mythos, but he shuts up when he gets the episode playing.

They do manage to pay attention to most it, despite still being naked, and Derek’s hands start wandering towards the end. Not with real purpose. He just seems to like touching Stiles. Stiles doesn’t say anything and tries not to act like this is all a dream come true, and he’s still at least a little bit afraid he’s going to wake up.

When the episode is over, they both get up and find their clothes and get dressed. Stiles is starting to feel nervous again, because he’s still not sure how the others are going to react. Scott and Allison show up first, which is a relief. Scott gives him a sideways grin, sort of a wink-wink-nudge-nudge sort of look, but doesn’t say anything. If he’s told Allison about the developments in Stiles and Derek’s relationship, she doesn’t mention it.

Erica shows up next, with Boyd jogging up the stairs behind her. She takes one look at the way Derek is hanging at Stiles’ shoulder and starts to giggle. Boyd just rolls his eyes at her. Isaac slips in quietly while nobody is paying attention. Lydia is last to arrive, with Jackson in tow. She gives Stiles a look and then gives them both a tart, “It’s about time,” before directing Jackson to put down the bags of Chinese food.

“What?” he demands. “About time for what?”

Lydia just smiles at the two of them and says, “I think you two make a cute couple.”

Stiles gives a completely unfeigned shudder. “Yeah, thanks for that, I feel like I’ve heard it before . . .”

Lydia just looks at him blankly. Scott clears his throat and says, quietly, “Matt said that about them. Or something similar, at least.”

“Well, he was just being a douche,” Allison says, because nobody present wants to talk about Matt. “Hey, let’s get this party started.”

As much as Stiles still has nightmares about that night at the police station, he’s almost grateful it came up, since it completely derailed the pack before they could ask any more questions about him and Derek. Lydia starts sharing out the food while Jackson sets up the games, grumbling about how he doesn’t want to play them while Lydia haughtily ignores him.

There are three total, special versions of Trivial Pursuit designed for nerds. Star Trek, Star Wars, and Lord of the Rings. Stiles looks at Lydia and says, surprised, “This was _your_ choice?”

Lydia tosses her hair. “So what if it was?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Stiles says. “Just don’t be disappointed when you find there’s a version of this game you can actually lose.”

She sniffs and says, “Playing the standard version is no fun against you lot, anyway.” This is true. The last time they played, they played in teams. Lydia versus Stiles versus everyone else. Lydia won. He challenged her to a match where she had to answer everything on her own but he got thirty seconds with Google for each question. Lydia won again. It was unanimously declared that they would not be playing Trivial Pursuit anymore.

To keep things interesting, they line the boards up end to end and do one round on each board before proceeding onto the next one, rather than playing a full game on a single board. To keep things from taking all night, they play in pairs. Lydia is mostly on her own, since Jackson is useless. Allison and Scott make a good team. Stiles plays on his own as a penalty for being the biggest dork in the room, since they have an odd number. Derek teams up with Isaac, and Erica with Boyd.

Scott wipes the floor with everyone on the Star Wars board. Stiles ekes out a narrow victory over Derek and Isaac on the Star Trek board. Then he, Derek, and Lydia get in a war of attrition on Lord of the Rings. It goes on so long that eventually Scott declares that whoever can answer an entire card full of questions first wins. Lydia takes the victory. Several people suspect that Stiles let her win, but he insists that he didn’t. It’s late by this point, nearly eleven. The others start to drift out the door.

“Too late to start the movie?” Stiles asks, once everyone is gone.

“I’m good for it if you are,” Derek says, so they put it on and flop on the couch together. “So. You let her win?”

“Eh, we would have tied again,” Stiles says. “We could’ve done it all night. She wasn’t about to let _me_ win, and I wanted to get them all the hell out of here so we could, you know, snuggle. Besides, it seems like it would’ve been mean if she hadn’t won _any_ of them after she brought them over.”

Derek just shakes his head, but Stiles can tell from the crinkles around his eyes that he’s amused. “Just do me a favor while we watch this, okay?”

“Mm?” Stiles asks.

“Don’t sing.”

“Spoilsport.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


End file.
